


Slow grenade

by withered



Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [61]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Coping Mechanisms, Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Russian Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25399354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Sometimes Tony feels like he's going to fly apart, the Soldier has just the thing to keep him together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/918138
Comments: 89
Kudos: 1035
Collections: Best Complete MCU Fics Ever





	Slow grenade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endrega_Turtlesse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endrega_Turtlesse/gifts).



> For the Anon, who, many moons ago, requested tied up Tony with Bucky calling him Russian pet names. And for endrega23 on tumblr, who also, many moons ago, requested dom/sub winteriron. 
> 
> I totally cheated with both of your prompts, but I hope you like it anyway!

Tony has anxieties on top of anxieties, it's not a surprise given the trauma that's made up his life, let alone what it's been composed of since Afghanistan.

With the help of sheer dumb luck, a burning well of spite, the protective qualities of the armor, and (as a result of the bunker altercation two years ago) Extremis, Tony's body has survived the battery of constant destruction admirably for someone of his age.

The same cannot be said for his mind.

He can invite terrorists to his doorstep without flinching, and grin in the face of an angry god, but let him linger a little too long in his own head and he's a nervous wreck.

It doesn't surprise him given that his brain has always been the best and worst weapon in his arsenal.

What does surprise him, however, is that of all the people to get it -- get him -- it's Barnes.

In hindsight, it shouldn't have.

While the Avengers would be the perfect group to conduct several studies on a wealth of mental illnesses, he and Barnes would probably be the only ones willing to admit it to a degree that correlates with the respective trauma. Denial is not something either of them are interested in indulging in, and the honesty in that is probably why Tony trusts him.

Ironic, given their history, but Tony knows better than to turn away a saving grace.

Barnes had proven himself trustworthy when the first time he witnessed Tony breaking down, he not only secured the area and talked Tony down from the proverbial ledge, Barnes also didn't tell anyone what he'd seen.

Tony can admit he'd been on pins and needles about it.

Back then, the Rogues' return had been a layer of fresh hell on top of the bullshit storm that was Tony's life, a Cold War in a place that should've been a sanctuary.

Barnes could've ruined him utterly and completely on Rogers' behalf. But he hadn't.

And when Tony had asked why, Barnes said, "I don't get much say in things."

"So," Tony drawled, "you like being in charge?"

Barnes' mouth curled at the corner in a self-conscious smile. "Depends, are you going to let me?"

From then on, it seemed a mutually beneficial arrangement: Barnes, allowed to be in control, and Tony allowed to lose it.

For all his life experience, Tony's never actually been in this kind of relationship. Clearly he'd been missing out.

Whenever Tony feels like crawling out of his skin, Barnes keeps him inside it.

At first it had been with just the strength of Barnes' arms alone -- and what a goddamn gift those were -- holding Tony together as he fell apart, his breath forced to calm and his focus forced to narrow to the tight hold of Barnes around him. Mimicking the rise and fall of Barnes' chest against Tony's back. Feeling the flutter of Barnes' exhales against Tony's ear, the sensitive skin of his neck.

And when Tony squirmed with an arousal he chalks up to physical closeness and the fact that he's a bisexual disaster even at forty, Barnes asked in a smoky murmur, "What is it you want, _dorogoi_?"

His inhale felt sharp enough to cut him, even as his hips shifted, seeking a friction that wasn't there.

"Use your words, _dorogoi_ , ask me nicely," and because Barnes had clearly been trained in torture, he rocked his hips against Tony's ass, and _oh god, that feels_ _fuckin_ -

"You bastard," Tony snarled in a way he meant and didn't.

Barnes smiled against his neck, and in a mock of a kiss, his words feel bitten into Tony's skin, "Ask, _dorogoi_ , I promise I'll give it to you. I'll take care of you."

And fuck, if that didn't make Tony's vision go a little grey.

"Touch me," he growled, "fuck, just --"

" _M_ _oi_ _horoshiy,_ anything you want," and if the price to pay for the way Barnes had Tony's head thrown back over his shoulder, keening like he was dying and coming so hard it made his ears ring, Tony would do it again.

Tony isn't in the business of denying himself things, after all. Luckily, Barnes isn't either.

In fact, Tony wonders how much fun Barnes actually has. Because he does. It's obvious in the consideration Barnes gives, the little furrow in his brow and the way he worries his lip when he's thinking something he shouldn't about Tony when other people are around.

It's an addictive feeling to be wanted, and Barnes _wants_.

Even if he could, Tony wouldn't begrudge him for it.

Getting to boss around someone like Tony is no small thing. He's a man who has the world at his feet, and the means to get it to do it's bidding, if he so chose. There's an exhilarating amount of power that comes with knowing you have the equivalent of a storm trapped in bottle, and while Tony hasn't ever given someone this amount of control over him before that doesn't mean he's unfamiliar with what happens when someone abuses it.

Barnes. Doesn't do that.

While the man is clearly enjoying the sight of Tony wiggling against the innumerable amount of ties Tony's collected over the years, Barnes seems more concerned with the picture Tony poses: spread out on the bed, completely naked save for the silk holding Tony in place, and how it simultaneously compliments and ruins the black necktie wrapped around Tony's dick like an intricately tied gothic candy cane.

"Let me guess, you were a boy scout," Tony teases, his shaking having calmed and his anxieties stilled during Barnes' rope tying demonstration.

"I was many things," Barnes agrees with an absent sort of smile as he trails his finger tips over silk and skin, silk and skin before testing with tongue and teeth, marking both with the impression of teeth and Tony's shivers. Feeling out the difference, and finding none in terms of loveliness, Barnes peers up at him through his lashes, and says, "But I've never had a present before, least of all one I've gotten to pick for myself."

Tony jerks against the bindings, a compulsion, a reflex; to go to Barnes, to give him what he wants, whatever he's asking for. This kind of hold is familiar to Tony, he's been burned on this level too many times by too many people to count, but Barnes only stokes the flames as he continues to touch and taste like Tony's all his, and _he's precious_.

Tony's breathing gets a little louder, even as he teases, "Poor baby had to wrap his gift up all by himself too."

"A small price to pay," Barnes assures in a drawl that's distinctively not American, eyes glittering like obsidian. "No one gets to touch you like this but me."

"Possessive, aren't you, Wonderland?" Tony goads, a flush of pleasure blooming from throat to chest that Barnes watches with rapt attention.

When next Barnes meets his gaze, there's a blackness in his eyes that's devouring, a curl to his mouth that's stained with sin. "Can you blame me, _dorogoi_?"

No, Tony can't.

Not when Barnes thoroughly enjoys the unwrapping and _use_ of his gift. So much so that for several days after, all Tony can feel is the press of phantom silk ties, Barnes's teeth, and the silken vice of Barnes' mouth around Tony's cock.

It's fortunate that Tony's needs, such as they are, don't require much more than Barnes on him. Sometimes, Barnes just needs to sit on him when Tony's on the verge of climbing the walls.

And if that particular position results in Tony begging for Barnes' cock, Barnes' more than happy to oblige.

Tony squirms a little, making noises of protest when Barnes' grounding weight lightens as he moves.

"Be patient, _dorogoi_ , have I ever left you wanting?"

_No, you haven't you fantastic bastard, but I want you now_ , Tony complains with nothing but big, pleading eyes and the lower lip he bites _redredred_.

After he arranges his naked thighs on either side of Tony's head, Barnes makes a tsking noise as he strokes Tony's cheek and croons, "Open for me, _dorogoi_."

It should say something about him that Tony's more focused on the way Barnes' pupils explode with Tony's compliance; the way his lashes quiver and his lips part with restrained relief as Tony's mouth closes around Barnes' cock in a welcoming embrace, the way Barnes' growl makes his throat tremble. But by then, Tony's world has narrowed to the slide of Barnes' cock against his lips, the pearls of Barnes' pleasure on Tony's tongue and _BarnesBarnesBarnes_.

Later, sated and floating on a bliss containing nothing but the salty bitterness of their completion and the musk of Barnes' skin in Tony's nose, does he wonder aloud at the other man's retreating back, "I feel like I should call you something besides your last name."

Barnes doesn't reply until he returns, cleaning up the mess of sweat and come from Tony's belly and chest, and urging him gently to drink some water before he's stretching atop Tony like a great wolf pelt; warm and solid, protective and possessive in one. His voice rumbles through them both like rolling thunder, "Call me whatever you want, _dorogoi_."

"Your last name lacks a certain amount of intimacy," Tony points out, the usual buzz beneath his bones soothed into a hum at the back of his brain as Barnes' fingers trail a path from sternum to belly, tracing the outline of where the arc reactor used to be with the digits of his metal fingers.

"What you call me doesn't matter," Barnes patiently insists, apparently just as sidetracked by the contrast of metal and skin, the warm golden bronze of Tony's flesh and the cool black and silver of Barnes' arm. "I've been called many things to do many things," is his eventual, quiet confession.

"Is this a _thing_ you still want to do?" Tony asks, carefully avoiding eye contact because Barnes had said, more than once, that the power of Tony's gaze would be enough of an incentive to do some unspeakable things. Granted, he'd said it in the moment, but Tony doesn't think Barnes is the type to gas anyone up. Least of all someone like Tony who's been accused of having more ego than substance.

With an apparent sixth sense for when Tony is talking shit about himself, Barnes guides Tony's chin to him, and his eyes look like the reflection of both sea and sky. " _Dorogoi_ , you're the only thing I want."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, handsome," Tony says with a wiggle of his brow, stealing a kiss that lingers and lingers as Barnes sucks the supplications from Tony's tongue.

When they pull away, they're still too close. Still breathing each other's air. "You sure don't have any requests about what I should call you?" Tony asks, lips still brushing on accident, on accident, and on purpose again.

There's heartbreaking affection in Barnes' expression, and Tony knows that whatever Barnes will say, Tony will obey. Not in the throes of panic -- grappling for a sedative and a grasp on reality -- or the heat of sex -- burning and all consuming -- but because he knows he won't be able to say no. It's a terrifying thought. Barnes could do more than break Tony now. He could destroy every inch of him.

Tony shouldn't have worried.

Not when Barnes says in whisper between an ache and a mend, "Yours, call me yours."

**Author's Note:**

> According to the internet:  
> dorogoi = darling, beloved, sweetheart  
> moi horoshiy = my good boy
> 
> Mondays are hard, I hope you enjoyed your smut. 
> 
> [As always](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com)


End file.
